Well, the two year anniversary of Pablo's death has come and gone. Seriously, I didn't feel any differently on Jan. 25, than I did on Jan. 24. I still missed him incredibly, but the day wasn't any sadder.
I think the anticipation of the day itself is harder. Every day is hard in and of itself.
But I already knew that. You don't manage to survive two years of this without picking something up along the way.
I like this poem by e.e. cummings:
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never without it(anywhere i go you go, my dear;and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling) i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true) and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you here is the deepest secret nobody knows(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)